


exolescens

by Arianne, patrexes



Series: Kinktober 2019 [25]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Greek and Roman Sex Politics, Implied/Referenced CSA, Implied/Referenced Incest, Masturbation, Other, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-24 15:48:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21980458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arianne/pseuds/Arianne, https://archiveofourown.org/users/patrexes/pseuds/patrexes
Summary: Gaius turns the lock on the door to his bedchamber.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: Kinktober 2019 [25]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1492133
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	exolescens

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: masturbation

Gaius turns the lock on the door to his bedchamber. At this hour, barely past dusk, he doubts the nannies would yet have put the girl to bed—but her father’s corpse frequents her nightmares still, and when she wakes crying only Gaius’ presence can soothe her. Should she require him, he would not leave her to her torments; but for any lesser concern, he would have no interruptions. 

A letter had arrived for him following dinner, postmarked from the Magitek Academy: one of Cid’s rare letters. His ward (or perhaps his son? Gaius thinks the boy had his nose, but Mid has never mentioned, and certainly by now it is too late to ask) has earned a place on the dean’s list this semester—not surprising—and the academic rivalry Gaius has heard so much about in the past months seems to have become something more— _quite_ surprising. The letter makes no claims of even friendship, never mind romantic interest, but the photograph attached tells an altogether different story, the taller boy (Nero, Gaius thinks he is called) with an elbow resting casually atop Cid’s shoulder as the two proudly showcase a winning invention. 

He _is_ of an age now that taking a lover would be entirely unremarkable. A shame, Gaius thinks, he’d never shown an interest in taking _him_. 

He would never force it, of course: were Cid so inclined—and _only_ were he so inclined—Gaius would seek his father's consent before ever laying a hand on him, hoping Midas was yet of a mind to agree. Only _out_ of it would one not recognize Gaius’ interest as a great boon to the boy. He himself had been catamite to His Radiance, whose attentions have offered Gaius innumerable gains even of late, long past the age most men would lose interest: he has borne witness to his mastery of strategy, been granted the auxiliary of the August XIth itself that he might bring cities to their knees before the might of Garlemald; was at twenty-eight called to his side and told a new legion would be levied and entrusted to his very hands. It had been an honor to fall to his knees and demonstrate his loyalty in turn. 

It is not in Gaius’ power to offer like privileges, nor his place to take the boy’s mouth, even should Cid desire it. But Gaius would work to ensure Cid prospered when he was grown, that he might succeed his father and stand beside Gaius in the legions; he would demand nothing of him which would debase, nor anything he would not give freely. 

This is little more than idle fantasy, but one which has ever made his blood run hot. Untouched, his hard cock aches in his trousers; unlacing them at last, he studies the photograph and takes himself in hand. 

Have they fucked yet, he wonders? He’s always imagined Cid would fear it—though Nero is a sight scrawnier than Gaius himself, and like as not proportional, so it may not be such a great imposition for Cid’s tight young cunt to accept him. 

A common fantasy, when Gaius takes himself in hand, is Cid beneath him. He’s begun to grow into his body, and as much as the boy himself seems to hate them, Gaius savors the rare sight of his small tits when his clothes are thin enough not to conceal them. They must be soft, he thinks, and likely sore as the rest of a growing body. He would kiss his way up those tits to the boy’s neck as he guided his cock between Cid’s pale thighs, the lips of his cunt wet for him to rut against. Cid would moan for him with abandon and no trace of fear, unpenetrated, Gaius’ cock dragging against his clit on every thrust. 

Now, this photograph in his hand—and it must be very recent, his hair grown out nearly to his shoulders, in dire need of a trim—Gaius considers the two boys’ closeness, how comfortable Cid seems under Nero’s weight, and he allows himself to edit the fantasy. 

He would open Nero upon well-oiled fingers—a liberty, perhaps, with a boy who does not belong to him, but in the comfort of his fantasies there is no harm to it—before fucking into his ass, and a slicked hand around the boy’s own hard cock would guide it into Cid’s cunt, willing and wet for this boy he’s so fond of. Perhaps they would kiss, the two of them beneath him, while Gaius set the rhythm of their thrusts. 

The rhythm he takes now with naught but his own hand is slow, nearly languid as he contemplates this scene, these two boys growing so quickly into young men. They are already so handsome, and bright as well—should they not turn out a match for one another, neither will struggle to find a respectable lover. 

But he hopes that the two of them are suited. Cid seems happy with his newfound friend, should his bright smile and humorous anecdotes be believed, and Gaius has seldom seen him so since Midas grew distant, absorbed in his work at Bozja Citadel. He is not keen to think of the fallout, should the boy feel that another person he holds dear were lost to him. Gaius knows little enough how to take the place of a father (though for the girl Livia he must learn to manage, for her late mother’s sake) and less how he might soften such a blow. Having run away to the legions little older than Cid was now, he was soon to find himself in the Emperor’s bed, then Midas nan Garlond’s, and neither has he since left—and while Gaius has once before taken a young man under his wing, it was without any such drama: at thirteen Varis yæ Galvus had already long found eternal devotion to another. 

Varis (newly a legatus himself, and Gaius could not be more proud) had made quite clear his intention that Gaius may take him to bed and in exchange offer his experience, lest he leave the Hydrus boy unsatisfied at which time they consummated their ‘great love’. At first request Gaius had been wary to oblige him, the passive role so often overwhelming for the senses even among peers and those well-experienced—but when first his own submission beneath His Radiance were suffered, it was with not even half the dignity of the young lord Varis with a cock up his ass. 

Gaius wondered how Cid had borne it, his first time—wondered if he’d taken Nero’s cock in his cunt or his ass. Yes, perhaps he’d still not taken more than fingers, but Gaius knew his ward—son?—and had heard enough about his friend; little seemed more uncharacteristic of the two of them than _restraint_. If Nero had been impatient, or even simply inexperienced, then perhaps the penetration had brought tears to Cid’s eyes. He would look beautiful, his eyes puffy from crying, his cheeks ruddy and tear-stained for hard use. 

If he took Gaius’ cock, surely he would cry speared upon it. 

Thumbing the head, Gaius lets free a low groan; leans back against the locked door as he quickens the pace of his strokes. 

He would not bear to let Cid cry for fear, but only the struggle of taking him, the strain of his body to accommodate Gaius’ cock. He would praise the boy for his efforts, and take all care to ease the pain, but only so much could be eased: Cid has always been so slight, and Gaius larger than most. Indeed Varis’ broad shoulders trembled even as he kept resolutely silent, and he had yet been a match for Gaius’ own size; Gaius himself larger than His Radiance when he had begged for respite in a moment of weakness. Perhaps, then, Cid _would_ be afraid—not of Gaius himself, but of the violation. 

Excitement and guilt both roil in the pit of his stomach, indistinguishable from one another. _Were_ Cid apprehensive, Gaius would comfort him, coax him through it as he is taken; kiss him to swallow his cries until his lips flushed dark against his skin, red as those marks Gaius would leave upon his throat. He would stroke the boy’s blond hair through the worst of it, hold him steady as he quaked, acclimating to use; wipe the tears from his cheeks and kiss his trembling eyelids. 

Or perhaps he would not cry, but blink away which tears welled in his eyes—perhaps pride would not let them spill over for mere fear or pain. Cid has always been willful. 

But Gaius’ cock down his throat, and it would no longer be a matter of pride: tears would fall freely down his cheeks for Gaius to treasure, red eyes wide and lungs burning for want of air. Kneeling before him in a neat and proper uniform—of the academy or of the legions matters not, alluring mainly for its gesture of the obedient capitulation Cid has never once displayed in life—Gaius could tangle his fingers in Cid’s hair, bruising his scalp to set the pace, hold him down on his cock and feel the boy moaning, rather than hear it. 

He should want only to defend Cid from such maltreatment, yet his hand quickens for want to inflict it. It is the least proper, the most _shameful_ way a man might have a citizen boy (his ward, perhaps his own son) and Gaius is but a man, beholden to the people’s mores. By His Radiance’s hands and his hands alone is it honor rather than degradation, and still do his rivals attempt to discredit Gaius for having endured it: the exalted Black Wolf no more than a bitch suckling at its master. The mere thought of the same vile gossip following his boy is abhorrent; never, _never_ would he allow himself to so abase Cid by his touch. 

But Gaius will never _have_ Cid, because Cid is disinterested; he is off at school, Gaius sequestered in his own bedchamber, and none will know should his mind turn to the taking of liberties best suited for _aan_. 

So he envisions the boy kneeling before him, tears staining his collar, a constellation of pinprick bruises under his eyes; envisions his hand snaking between his own legs like a secret, wanton but shy of the heat of Gaius’ gaze; envisions his _own_ hands wrapped loosely around Cid’s neck, thumbing his distended throat as he gags on what might well be his own father’s cock— 

—and like that Gaius brings himself shuddering over the edge, spilling bitter into the palm of his hand.

**Author's Note:**

> 


End file.
